


my heart is buried in venice

by papercr0wns



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Juno Steel Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s03e01-02 Juno Steel and the Man in Glass, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, bc peter simply cannot go more than 2 seconds without using one, blatant overuse of pet names, that makes this sound so dark it's not lol, that's all the time context i can give i am so sorry, that's not relevant but i am going to keep saying it bc i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercr0wns/pseuds/papercr0wns
Summary: Something in Juno’s chest twists and the feeling is somewhere between comforting and terrifying. It’s… nice, he supposes, to be cared for like that, but he’s gone so long without it that now he’s not quite sure what to do with it anymore. On one hand, he doesn’t want to be a burden, doesn’t want to force someone- anyone, really, but especially Peter, when everything between them still feels so fragile sometimes- to take on his bad days on top of their own. On the other, though, Juno’s sure he's on the brink of falling apart with the weight of everything he thought he’d finally managed to get past suddenly crashing back down on top of him, and he’d rather like someone- anyone, again, but especially Peter, to hold him together.or, 3 times peter took care of juno, and one time juno took care of him.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 87
Kudos: 214
Collections: RECORDING IN PROGRESS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is literally just 6k of me projecting my trauma and yearning because i am simply so gay and I've decided to make it everyone else's problem. i have nothing to say for myself but i hope this can bring you some comfort during these trying, post 3.21 times in jupeter nation. 
> 
> TWs: intense/consistent negative self-talk, vague/brief mentions of child abuse, domestic abuse/toxic relationships, and alcoholism, detailed description/discussion of depression/depressive episodes
> 
> this isn't incredibly heavy but it isn't light either, so please do be careful and take care of yourself. also, as a general note, if you're struggling with depression/mental health please know that it isn't your fault and that i'm so proud of you for doing your best, even if that's just laying in bed. i love you so much <3
> 
> ((title from "my heart is buried in venice" by ricky montgomery, aka the "line without a hook" guy <3 ))
> 
> edit 12/3/20: i am literally just changing my description of peter's cologne,, was informed the OG scent description had elias bouchard energy and i won't stand for it.

It’s odd, the way some things manage to claw their way from your past into your present, regardless of how thoroughly convinced you were that you’d shaken them, clinging like the film of an oil slick over water. 

Juno had quite a number of those things, more than was probably normal- his mother’s voice, the inviting burn of heady liquor, a laundry list of past partners ranging from bad to worse to unspeakable- and while he’d shaken none of them, he _had_ been coping. He’d been… happy, or at least close to it, for once, after he’d finally forced himself to figure things out with Peter and settled into a comfortably mundane routine with the crew aboard the Carte Blanche.

And maybe that was why he was surprised when he woke feeling like his bones had been hollowed out at their core and filled with lead, the weight pinning him down so strongly that making even the tiniest shift feels like running a mile. There wasn’t any reason for it, and that made it worse, in some morbid, fucked up sort of way, because at least if something had happened to dredge up all of the things Juno had worked so relentlessly to overcome, then it would feel… justified, he guessed.

But without that reason, what was he supposed to say? ‘ _Sorry I’m no help today, sometimes I get my feelings hurt and I get really useless about it_ ’? ' _Sorry, I know I’m an adult but I’m wholly incapable of handling my own shit_ ’? Regardless, there wasn’t a pretty way to put it, especially not when he’d promised he was _better_.

Buddy hadn’t wanted him before exactly because of this; if he could become completely and irreparably indisposed for extended periods at the drop of a hat he was useless. Peter had only forgiven him because he’d promised he’d sworn he was past… this. Whatever it was.

Surely, then, they wouldn’t want him now. Like this. Like he was then. 

Juno didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t- _didn’t_ \- want himself either. 

A soft knock echoes from the door and Juno starts violently, sloughing off his hazy thoughts like a heavy coat of tar.

“ _Juno, darling?_ ” The words feel far-off and swamped in fog, only half-comprehensible to Juno’s still-sluggish mind. He shifts, burrowing further into the sheets he’s yet to leave. Like maybe if he waits long enough, he’ll disappear into the fabric, which sounds far more inviting than forcing his body, somehow both hollowed-out and leaden, to move. The digital alarm clock on his bedside table glares an angry _11:45 AM_.

“ _We’re all quite worried about you, dear,”_ Peter’s voice filters through the door to Juno’s room again, practically dripping with concern, and Juno feels a bit like crying.

He considers waving Peter off, telling him that he was fine, that he’d overslept by accident or had a headache or giving some other equally bullshit-ridden excuse, but the words catch in his throat and won’t come. _Useless_ , a voice hisses from some dark, sealed-off corner of his mind, and he pretends it doesn’t sound achingly familiar. _Always ruining everything, making people worry about you when you don’t deserve it._ Behind the door, Peter exhales heavily.

“ _I’m afraid I’ve been sent with strict instructions not to leave until I know you’re alright_ .” Something in Juno’s chest twists and the feeling is somewhere between comforting and terrifying. It’s… nice, he supposes, to be cared for like that, but he’s gone so long without it that now he’s not quite sure what to do with it anymore. On one hand, he doesn’t want to be a burden, doesn’t want to force someone- anyone, really, but _especially_ Peter, when everything between them still feels so fragile sometimes- to take on his bad days on top of their own. On the other, though, Juno’s sure he's on the brink of falling apart with the weight of everything he thought he’d finally managed to get past suddenly crashing back down on top of him, and he’d rather like someone- anyone, again, but _especially_ Peter, to hold him together.

Luckily, though, Peter had already made that decision for him.

“ _I’m going to come in now, love,”_ he says, and the door slides open with a soft, metallic whoosh. Juno hears the door close again a moment later, and then there’s the soft sound of footsteps and a weight on the bed beside him.

“Oh, my poor darling,” Peter says, nearly a whisper.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Somehow, Juno manages to dredge up enough strength to nod. Peter shifts until his hip rests by Juno’s head, leg pressed against Juno’s spine in a line of warm, steady contact. He soothes a hand across Juno’s side in broad shoulder-to-hip strokes, only pausing to brush a few almost matted curls away from his cheek. 

“Bad day?” he asks, and Juno gives a soft _‘mhm_ ’ sort of sound, half-muffled by his pillow.

Peter leans down to press a kiss to Juno’s temple, and Juno can smell the cologne on his skin and the lingering sweetness of his lightly perfumed shampoo. It’s lovely- all roses and amber and jasmine, and it soothes something sharp and fragile deep in Juno’s chest. In a way, it smells like home. 

Peter hums, soft and sympathetic, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Juno shrugs.

“You don’t have to stay.” The words feel like sandpaper being forced up his throat, and the sudden raspiness of his voice reflects it. 

“I’m sure you’ve got someplace important to be, doing something better than-” _laying with your stupid, needy girlfriend because he can’t make himself get out of bed,_ “-this.”

“Well, that’s hardly the point,” Peter sounds almost offended, but his gentle touches don’t stop, “I’m here because I _want_ to be, love. I _want_ to help you if I can. It’s practically my job.” Juno would argue rather fervently that it isn’t if he had the energy. Instead, he shudders out a sigh and rolls over to press his cheek into Peter’s thigh (he’s wearing a pair of pale blue lounge pants and a matching cropped sweatshirt, both velvet, and the fabric is soft and warm on Juno’s skin). Peter reaches down to card a hand through Juno’s hair, scratching gently against his scalp with long, manicured nails, and Juno practically melts.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Juno rasps, after a moment, “‘S not you, this just has to… pass on its own.” Peter hums quietly, stroking a thumb across Juno’s hairline.

“Would you like me to stay?” he asks, and Juno gives a weak shrug. He would, admittedly, but it wouldn't _fix_ him, and he figures that there’s no point in wasting Peter’s time.

“I could hold you, if you’d like,” Peter offers, and Juno shudders, because as much as he feels guilty for wanting it, he wants it, wants _Peter_ , so badly that a physical ache settles behind his ribs. Still, though. He doesn't really think he has the right to ask.

“You don’t-” he starts, but Peter cuts him off.

“I didn’t ask about me, darling. I asked you what _you_ wanted, and that’s the only answer I care to hear.” Juno sighs deeply enough to make his shoulders shake.

“I… That’d be nice, I guess,” his words are shaky and disjointed, but Peter doesn’t press. Instead, he shifts so that he laid facing Juno, tucked beneath the sheets with him. He cradles Juno to his chest with gentle hands at the back of his head and his waist, rubbing soft circles into his hip bone.

Peter whispers a soft, “ _Is this alright?_ ” into Juno’s hair, and rests his chin there when Juno nods against his chest.

“I really do want to help you, Juno,” Peter’s voice is a little raw around the edges, vulnerable in a way he doesn’t often let himself be, “Thank you for letting me. For trusting me with… Oh, with all of this. With yourself.” 

Juno’s eyes and throat burn, and he tucks himself further into Peter’s velvet-covered chest with a hitched breath.

 _That’s nothing to be thankful for,_ he wants to say. _I’m sorry. I won’t blame you if it’s too much._

“I love you,” is what he says, instead. Peter just shushes him, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his hair, then his temple, then his cheek.

“Oh, Juno,” he breathes, and Juno feels the words being whispered against his temple more than he hears them, “I know. I love you too, darling, so dearly. More than you know.” Peter’s voice is low and genuine, not a shadow of doubt in it, and, for once, Juno’s head quiets, and he believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so very much for reading!! it really does mean the world to me, and kudos/comments/bookmarks make me indescribably happy, if you'd like to leave any. i have the entirety of this fic written already (i can't hold myself to an upload schedule otherwise lol), so one chapter will be posted every day until december 6, when i'll post the last chapter (assuming nothing crazy happens ofc). 
> 
> if you want, you can come hang out with me on tumblr @gently-used-fairytale, where i occasionally advocate for giving rita a glock and then disappear into the void for several days. 
> 
> you can also check out the jupeter playlist i put together while writing this fic here ( https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7smQJ4HtDGUrMTwrQ98JSv?si=EQPvMJCPRi-Ch-iKWI1Wdw ) if that's something you're interested in.
> 
> anyways, thank you so much for being here. i love you so much!! please drink some water and take care of yourself for me!
> 
> -ec <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok here's chapter 2! thanks so much to everyone who left nice comments/kudos on chapter 1; i owe you my life. anyways, i don't think there's any major TWs in this chapter (except maybe like a single sentence that very loosely references s*rah s*eel, but it's more vague implication than anything). anywaysss, thank you for being here i love you very much & i hope you enjoy!! <3 :)

At first, Juno assumes it’s just stress. His head is a borderline cesspool of trauma on a good day, and he knows perfectly well that it only gets worse when he stacks everyday stressors on top of it. He’s spent nearly 40 years with a mind that likes to play a morbid game of roulette with every traumatic experience and minor fuck-up in his life and plug anything from his mother’s bad nights to the time he got drunk on cheap whiskey and tried to sleep with Mick Mercury, of all people, and play it on a supersized movie screen every time he tries to sleep. It’s not abnormal for him, and Juno knows how to slog through weeks on hour-long snatches of sleep between nightmares. He doesn’t doubt that he can manage it again, albeit in different circumstances.

But then a week or so passes, the heist he’d been on edge about passes with a minimal number of hitches, and the dreams don’t stop. And it turns out, actually, that the aforementioned ‘different circumstances’  _ do  _ make it harder- borderline impossible, really- to manage his brain’s day-to-day fuckery, because it’s significantly more difficult to shrug off concern about the fact that you look like you’ve been bowled over by a high-speed train when there are five people pointing it out instead of one. Especially when one of those five people is near-inescapably observant and prefers to attach himself to you at the hip at any and every opportunity. 

That fact, particularly, is one that Juno catches on to rather quickly.

He’d gotten up earlier than usual, running on maybe two consecutive hours of sleep, to stand over a steadily heating griddle while the coffee maker hisses behind him because as absurd as it seems for a team of professional criminals to have something as mundane as a  _ chore wheel _ , the Carte Blanche  _ did _ have one, and somehow he, Vespa, and Jet, were deemed the only three people deemed capable of cooking group meals without placing everyone at risk of direct bodily harm.

Arms wrap around Juno from behind and he jumps so hard he nearly knocks the griddle off of the stove. When he turns, though, it’s just Peter, looking painfully guilty.

“Christ, warn a lady before you jump all over him, will you?” Juno growls, more a reflex than something with genuine heat behind it. Peter’s pale eyes narrow, face screwed up in a concern he rarely showed. Something about it makes Juno sick, makes him want to push until Peter snaps back at him if only to shift that concern into something he’s familiar with.

“I did,” Peter says, pointedly telegraphing his movements as he holds a hand out to Juno, “I said your name, darling. Twice.” 

“Oh,” Juno replies, a bit lamely, then steps forward to loop his arms around Peter’s waist, planting a kiss on his cheek in lieu of an explanation.

Peter hugs him for a moment, then pulls away and holds Juno at an arm's length, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his face, a thumb sweeping gently under Juno’s good eye, where Juno knows the concealer he’d caked on probably doesn’t cover the bruise-dark bags that have gradually become a permanent facet of his face.

“Have you not been sleeping?” Peter asks, wearing the same expression he does when studies a particularly elaborate floor plan or security system.

Juno thinks its adorable- he thinks  _ most  _ of Peter’s private mannerisms are adorable, but he doesn’t ever admit it for fear of embarrassing Peter into hiding them again- and he knows that he’s taking too long to respond but his overtired brain can only focus on one thing at once and currently it’s settled on the way Peter’s hair falls into his face when he tilts his head like that, and-

“Juno,” Peter says ( _ again? _ ), a bit sharp, waiting until Juno’s eye focuses on him to continue, “Are you alright, dear?”

“I, uh,” Juno stumbles, “Yeah. I’m… great. Peachy.” Peter sighs heavily, brow furrowing, and Juno thinks fleetingly that he’d like to kiss him there until the worry runs out of his face.

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult to my intelligence,” Peter drops both his hands to the small of Juno’s back, rubbing idle circles there, “But I do know you too well to believe that.”

“Believe what?”

“Juno, love-” It’s not patronizing, but suddenly Juno goes from endeared to annoyed and he huffs frustratedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“I  _ said  _ I’m fine, Nureyev,” He snaps, and Peter tenses, face visibly closing off as he shifts to look over his shoulder. The kitchen and surrounding hallways are, blessedly, empty. Regardless, Juno had promised not to use Peter’s real name in communal spaces if they weren’t sure they were alone, and… Well.

“I do wish you’d be more careful than that,” he bites, and Juno feels his heart drop, all hints of annoyance disappearing in favor of guilt so heavy it makes Juno want to grovel at Peter’s feet. 

“I’m sorry, I- I wasn’t thinking-”

“You weren’t,” Peter cuts him off, starts to say something else, then shakes himself, “but it’s alright. I know you weren’t doing it on purpose.” Juno bristles again, even though he knows Peter isn’t insulting him. Vaguely, a voice that sounds almost like Vespa’s reminds him that, “ _ You get all touchy and mood-swingy when you’re tired, Steel. It’s obnoxious. _ ”

Peter sighs, pulling a hand away from Juno’s waist to drag a hand roughly through his hair.

“Please just drop the act, Juno, it doesn’t work. Not on me.” Juno’s heart stutters in his chest, and for a moment he’s not sure if that’s a fact he likes the reality of. But then again, he realizes, this is what he’d  _ chosen _ , what he’d promised Peter when he’d apologized to him when they’d agreed to try again. To be honest. Not to push him away when he got too close to a fresh wound.

“Sorry, I- I’m just tired. I don’t mean to snap at you,” Juno says, forcing himself to look Peter in the eyes. 

“I know, dear. I’m not angry,” Peter soothes, pulling Juno to his chest for a moment, letting him settle.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Juno says after a moment, words half-muffled into Peter’s sweater. Peter makes a soft, sympathetic sound and presses a kiss to Juno’s hair. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Juno continues, “I can usually just handle it myself, but, y’know. I guess not.” Juno trails off, and Peter pulls away a bit so that he can see Juno’s face with their chests still touching. 

“You know you don’t  _ have  _ to handle it yourself anymore though, yes?” 

Juno nods halfheartedly, “I know.” Peter doesn’t look like he believes that, but he doesn’t press, and Juno is grateful for it. Maybe it’s just being around him, but something about Peter relaxes Juno enough for his exhaustion to hit him full force, and suddenly he feels like he has about as much control over his emotions as a hormonal teenager.

“How about you spend tonight with me,” Peter starts, “and we’ll see what we can do to get you some sleep?” 

“What, you trying to get in my pants now?” Peter snorts.

“Oh, never, my dear lady. Just looking out for you.” 

“Mhm,” Juno replies, deadpan, “Sure.” He leans up to kiss Peter’s forehead. A moment passes, and Juno sobers a bit. 

“Thank you,” he says, and means it.

* * *

That night, as promised, Juno slips into Peter’s room a few hours after dinner when the exhaustion sinks in enough to make him dizzy. Still, he knows that probably won’t be enough to get him to sleep, or at least not enough to make him  _ stay  _ asleep. 

That thought seems a little less bulletproof when Peter insists on rubbing his back for him, helping him lay flat on his stomach so he’s snuggled into pillows and sheets that smell of Peter’s cologne and floral shampoo while Peter works tension out of Juno’s shoulders and back. 

“Remind me to do this for you more often,” Peter muses while he digs his thumbs into the base of Juno’s neck, “I swear you’re nearly all knots up here.” Juno hums a bit, and Peter hits another knot, carefully kneading out the tension until Juno is a puddle on the mattress. 

“Where’d you learn how to do this anyway?” he asks, words slurring together with drowsiness. 

Peter laughs quietly; a light, fond sort of thing, “I'm sure you know how well it pays to have a wide skill set in my preferred line of work.”

“And that includes a degree in massage therapy?” 

“Well I suppose it doesn’t, really,” Peter’s touches ease up, and he runs his hands lightly up and down Juno’s sides, “but it’s useful now, isn’t it?” Juno nods and makes a small, contented sound into the pillows. Peter leans down to drop a kiss onto his shoulder blade. 

“Tired, love?” he asks, and Juno gives a sluggish nod, “Sit up for me?” Juno reluctantly pushes himself up, leaning against Peter’s chest until he can turn down the bed and tuck the covers around the both of them, with Juno tucked snugly into his chest, face buried in Peter’s neck.

Juno’s fairly sure Peter says something else that his overtired mind can’t parse, but he figures it wasn’t all that important since Peter brings up a hand to card through his hair a moment later, pressing a kiss to his temple. Juno sighs happily and lets himself drift.

He only wakes once, briefly, tense and shaky in Peter’s arms, but Peter immediately tightens his grip around him, sleepily muttering, “ _ I’m right here, darling, I’ve got you _ ,” along with a litany of other endearments and reassurances, letting Juno cling to him until his breathing slows and he relaxes back into sleep. 

It isn't perfect, not really, but when Juno wakes nearly 10 hours later, it’s to Peter’s arms around him, even though he knows that his partner usually gets up at what could only graciously be considered ‘the crack of dawn’, and to him, that’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm willing to commit a federal crime for anyone who takes the time to leave comments/kudos- they really do make my day. My tumblr is @gently-used-fairytale if you'd like to come hang out and watch me have intense debates with myself about whether or not peter nureyev has freckles in real-time. 
> 
> anyways, thank you so so much for reading and i love you!! drink some water and take care of yourself, please!
> 
> -ec <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here's chapter 3! i meant to post it earlier, but i got some like 24-hour stomach bug thing and slept all day lol. anyways, this chapter is probably my favorite, but it's also the heaviest so please take care of yourself and heed the trigger warnings.
> 
> speaking of, TWs for child abuse (including what are implied to be direct quotes from an abuser that are being remembered during a flashback), detailed description of panic attacks/flashbacks, and mentions of drinking/alcohol
> 
> if you notice a trigger I've missed, please, please let me know so that i can add it here. i love you <3 <3

In all honesty, Juno doesn’t mind playing the role of oblivious newlywed nearly as much as he’d thought he would. Sure, it felt a bit… _demeaning_ the first couple of times- after all, his role in most heists that involved he and Peter playing a pair of newlyweds boiled down to ‘hang off Peter’s arm and look pretty’ for at least half the time, but it turned out that scoping out a room and picking through crowds to find a mark was significantly easier when people underestimated you. And, well, if Juno got a little bit of a kick out of fleecing some billionaire who’d pegged him as little more than a pretty face out of damn near everything they owned, that was his business.

It was almost second nature to him now, he thought as he shifted a bit closer to Peter’s side, champagne flute held loosely in one hand as he scanned the large, gaudily over-decorated ballroom for their mark; the CEO of some intergalactic mining operation with exponentially more donors than moral restrictions, a mean streak several miles wide, and, hopefully, a bank account soon to be several million creds lighter.

Peter’s making idle conversation with some couple- Maeve and Seneca Winthrop, apparently, but Juno wasn’t _really_ listening- simultaneously building rapport and an alibi. His hand has taken up residence on Juno’s waist, stroking a thumb across the satiny, wine red fabric of his dress as he speaks, completely in his element. It’s… nice. In an odd, highly illegal sort of way.

Seneca pauses mid-sentence as their comms buzzes in the pocket of their suit jacket.

“Excuse me,” they say, moving to take the call, “That’s our nanny. I’ll just be a moment.” Seneca kisses Maeve’s temple briefly and slips away in a flash of garish silk. 

“Kids,” Maeve jokes, and Peter smiled and laughs politely. Juno decides rather pointedly not to engage and sips at his drink- some non-alcoholic, sparkling, floral thing- instead. It’s not his place, he knows, but having kids just to shrug them off onto a live-in nanny doesn’t sit quite right with him. 

“Are you planning on having any little ones soon, then?” Maeve asks.

“Oh, not yet, I’m afraid,” Peter says, “It’s still a bit earlier for that, don’t you think, Aurelia, dear?” 

Juno- or Aurelia, rather- smiles and nods politely, “More than a bit, I think.” Maeve giggles into her drink.

“I’ll agree with you on that. I do wish we’d waited a bit longer sometimes, you know. I think we lost half our honeymoon phase just trying to wrangle ours. Lovely, insufferable little monsters, those three. I love them dearly, of course, but sometimes, I just wish I could beat some sense into them,” Maeve says, and it’s clearly meant to be a joke.

Juno feels as if the floor has been ripped out from underneath him. Vaguely, the conversation continues around him beneath a blanket of static ( _“- a little harsh, yes?” another laugh, like it’s funny, “oh, one afternoon with them and_ -”), but Juno doesn’t hear it, because suddenly he’s not in some raffish Venusian ballroom and he can’t feel Peter’s hand on his waist anymore. 

Peter must notice something because he shifts, pressing Juno protectively into his side. Usually, Juno craves Peter’s touch like he’s starved for it (and, admittedly, maybe he is), but at that moment all he wants to do is squirm out of his grasp and bolt. 

Instead, Juno shakes himself, managing to calm his breathing back down a bit. For a moment he thinks he’ll be alright, but then Maeve gestures a little too quickly and Juno flinches so hard that he drops his champagne flute and he freezes as it shatters noisily against the tile because _if you fucking talk back to me one more time, the next thing I throw will be at your head, do you hear me_ ? and Juno can feel his heart and lungs start to seize up, and there’s nothing but raised voices and slamming doors and the cloying scent of iron, and he _can’t_ -

The hand on his waist is turning him around and guiding him somewhere, then, a voice echoing over his shoulder, muzzily (“ _-nt hold his liquor very well, give us just a moment-“_ ) and then softer, closer to his ear, saying, “You’re alright, darling, just walk with me,” in a cadence and tone that is unmistakably Peter Nureyev’s, and Juno clings to it like he’s drowning.

Peter leads him somewhere quiet- a bathroom, probably- and eases him down to sit on the floor, back against the wall, and pushes gently at the back of his neck.

“Head between your knees, love, there you go,” he coaxes as he starts to put a hand on Juno’s back. 

Juno flinches convulsively. He doesn’t mean to, but his wires got all crossed somehow and now his brain is very much convinced that it isn’t Peter who’s touching him, and he’s terrified that that hand is going to wrench him up and slam his head into the wall behind him, or shove him into the floor, maybe, but then the hand is gone and Juno can’t tell if that’s better or worse.

Peter’s saying something Juno can’t parse and he’s too hot and too cold all at once, shaking out of his skin, and his chest _hurts_ because he can’t breathe anymore and it doesn’t matter if he knows he’s done this all a hundred times before because this time Juno’s sure he’s dying and half his mind is still several decades ago in a tiny, crumbling apartment and he can’t find the way out.

“I can’t-” he sobs out, gasping, “I can’t-” He reaches out a hand blindly, frantic, and Peter takes it in both of his.

“Shh,” Peter hushes, “you’re alright, Juno. I need you to try to take some deep breaths for me, okay?” 

Peter brings Juno’s hand forward and presses it flat to his chest, “Match me, dearest. Match my breathing.” Peter’s chest shifts under Juno’s trembling palm as he takes a deep breath in through his nose, holds it and exhales slowly through his mouth. He inhales again and Juno tries shakily to mirror him, but his breath hitches sharply before he can hold it and he dissolves back into heaving sobs.

“No, no, no, darling, that was a perfect start,” Peter soothes, rubbing his thumb across the back of Juno’s hand where he’s holding it flush to his chest.

“Let’s try again, okay? In-” Peter breathes in, and Juno mirrors him in wheezing half-steps.

“Hold,” Peter continues, and Juno manages maybe half the time Peter did before Peter coaxes him through a watery exhale.

Still, Peter acts as if he’s accomplished something groundbreaking, saying, “There you go, love, you’re doing so well. Just keep doing that,” among a litany of other praises.  
Peter keeps counting out breaths for Juno to match for what feels like hours, until Juno’s breathing slows down again and he’s left shivering and curled into himself on the bathroom floor, exhausted.

Weakly, Juno lifts his head from where it’d been tucked between his knees and tugs Peter towards him with their joined hands until he can hide his face in Peter’s neck.

“Is touch alright now?” Peter asks, and the second Juno nods he wraps his arms around Juno and holds him close, pressing kisses into his hair.

“I’ve got you,” he says, rocking Juno slightly, “You’re right here, with me.”

Juno sniffles into his suit jacket, snuggling closer.

“Thank you,” he breathes after a moment, voice rough, “We can, uh… We can go back now.” He pulls away and Peter looks at him as if he’s proposed something wildly outlandish, and, in a way, maybe he has.

“I’d feel much better getting you cleaned up and into bed,” Peter says, and _god_ does that sound heavenly, “I don’t mean to insult you, dear, but you look a bit of a mess.” Juno snorts and runs a hand under his eye. It comes away smeared with dark streaks of mascara and the remnants of shimmering gold eyeliner that Peter had spent close to half an hour perfecting.

“Eh, I’m sure I could make this work,” he jokes, “Call it Venusian avant-garde, or something.”

“...I’d suggest you didn’t. Not that you don’t look gorgeous, because you do, but I’m afraid I might be the only one who would share that opinion, at the moment.” Juno manages a watery half-smile at that, and Peter beams. 

“Yeah, alright,” Juno sighs, letting Peter help him up off the floor, straightening out the fabric of his dress, “Let’s go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you sm for reading! if you want, you can come hang out with me on tumblr @gently-used-fairytale and listen to me yell about how much i love vespa ilkay for hours on end.
> 
> the chapter i'm posting tomorrow is the last one, but i do have plans to write more fic for penumbra if that's something you wanna stick around for <3
> 
> as always, i'm legally obligated to fist fight at least one person (of your choice) outside a denny's for you if you leave comments/kudos :)
> 
> ok anyways i love you so so much!! please drink some water and take care of yourself for me <3 <3
> 
> -ec


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the last chapter! thank you so much for sticking with me and reading to the end; i genuinely cannot express how much that means to me. i love you all so much <3
> 
> there aren't really any major trigger warnings for this chapter, but peter is briefly mean to himself (he's very pretty obviously but he thinks he isn't) and there's some discussion of the insecurities he has about his appearance that are referenced in man in glass.

Peter’s wasn’t being _obsessive_. No, he’s being _thorough_. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he grabs an armful of files and tosses them onto the large, circular table in the middle of Carte Blanche’s planning room.

Sure, he’s already gone through every file and map and chart that could be even tangentially related to the plan for their upcoming heist on Europa, but… It pays to be prepared, he tells himself. He couldn’t afford to slack off- not now, with a whole crew of people relying on him.

He grabs the top folder and flips it open. It’s filled with maps of CCTV cameras inside the gallery they’re planning to infiltrate. He’s memorized those, he knows, but he runs through the placements in his head again before shifting the folder to the bottom of the stack. The next folder contains profiles of their marks, and Peter knows those almost better than he knows the camera layout.

Peter exchanges the file for another from the stack, trying to shake Juno’s voice from his head.

“ _You already know everything_ ,” he’d whined, petulant, as he wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, tugging him back towards his room, “ _You shouldn’t keep obsessing over it; you’re just gonna make yourself nervous_.” Peter reaches for another file, resolutely not thinking about the way Juno’s bottom lip puffed out when he pouted, or the way he pressed up on his toes to meet Peter’s eye.

“ _Come_ on _, baby. Come to bed with me. I know you’re exhausted_ .” Admittedly, the offer had been… tempting. Peter had a difficult time saying no to Juno Steel under normal circumstances, but doing it while he actively snuggled into Peter’s chest, dressed in a casual, sleeveless babydoll dress that he _knew_ Peter loved, was borderline impossible. 

The sad, kicked puppy sort of look Juno had given him when he’d shrugged him off was irrelevant, Peter reminded himself as he sorted through another page of photocopied IDs. It _was_. 

Peter manages to slog his way through another three or four files before the words start to blur together on the page, his vision darkening at the edges. Maybe Juno _had_ been right in saying that he was exhausted, and maybe the thought of crawling into bed with Juno _is_ intoxicating, but he’s here to do a job, not to waste precious time cuddling his girlfriend when there’s such a high likelihood that he’ll ruin the most crucial part of their heist if he isn’t _prepared_. He won’t let himself forget that. 

But he… Well, he _is_ tired, admittedly. And he knows he won’t absorb as much information if he’s practically keeling over where he sits. _A few minutes won’t hurt_ , he thinks as he pushes the stack of files out of the way to pillow his head on his arms, curled around the tabletop.

_Just a handful of minutes_. 

* * *

“ _-reyev?_ ” Peter blinks blearily awake to Juno kneeling beside him. The ship’s night cycle lights are on, and Juno’s dressed in an old, oversized sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder and mismatched thigh-high socks, hair still slightly damp from the shower. 

“Hey there, handsome,” he says, smiling fondly and reaching up to brush Peter’s fringe back from his face, “It’s almost 11.” Peter shakes himself. It’d barely been 8 when he’d agreed to let himself have a few minutes of rest. He starts to tell Juno that there’s no way that’s right, but he cuts himself off with a loud, catlike yawn.

Juno laughs a bit under his breath, standing up and offering Peter a hand, “Let’s get you to bed, huh?” Peter starts to protest, but he can already feel his eyes aching to slip shut again, like giving his body a taste of the rest he’d deprived it of only made him crave it more. 

Peter takes Juno’s hand and stands, wobbling like a baby deer on fragile legs. Juno tucks a steadying arm around his waist, practically holding him up.

“I would have carried you, but, you know,” Juno teases, “You’re just obnoxiously tall. So.” 

“Mm,” Peter breathes, “remind me to take that up with Vespa. I’m sure she’ll agree to take him down a few inches.” Juno snorts a laugh.

“She probably would, y’know. Shave off a little femur for you.” Peter’s laugh turns into a yawn halfway through, and he leans more heavily into Juno.

“Don’t knock me over, there, hon,” he says, steering Peter into the Carte Blanche’s communal bathroom.

“I thought we were going to bed,” Peter says, maybe a bit huffy, as Juno helps him sit on the lip of one of the sinks, although it’s really more of a lean for him, feet still brushing the floor.

“You’ve still got all your makeup on,” Juno says, fishing a pack of makeup wipes out of a nearby cabinet, “You’d give me hell if I let you go to sleep like that.”

“Maybe,” Peter replies, a hint of anxiety peeking through his sleepy haze, “I’m sure it’s fine.” Juno carefully slips Peter’s glasses off from where they’d sat askew on his nose and places them on the edge of the sink, cradling Peter’s cheek with his other hand.

“Nureyev. Sweetheart,” he says, incredulous, “Please.” 

Then, after a moment, softer, “Just let me take care of you, alright?” Something in Peter’s chest flutters and he nods, against his better judgment. Juno smiles, soft and impossible fond, and kisses his cheek.

Peter drifts for a moment while Juno gently wipes the makeup from his face, then runs over his face and neck with a warm, damp cloth for good measure.

“There,” he says once he’s finished, wringing the cloth out and laying it over the lip of the sink to dry. He holds Peter’s face in his hands for a moment, then lightly kisses the tip of his nose.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Juno says it like it’s obvious, looping his arms around Peter’s waist.

“Juno-”

“Ah, no,” Juno cuts Peter off with the air of someone scolding a dog, “Even like this. _Especially_ like this.” Admittedly, Peter doesn’t believe that; at least not completely. He’s not sure he ever could; he knows what he covers with foundation and concealer and so on every morning- the redness and the dark circles and the shallow beginnings of wrinkles. It isn’t pretty. Not really. Not even if Juno seems to think it is.

“I mean, you’re gorgeous with makeup on, too, obviously,” Juno continues, “but I miss these.” He traces a line between a cluster of the freckles littering Peter’s cheeks. If he’d been more awake, Peter might have been able to recognize the broad, titled cross shape Juno outlined across his jaw as the constellation Cygnus.

“And being able to do this,” Juno presses a quick kiss to Peter’s lips, “without getting your god awful lipstick in my teeth.” Peter smiles and leans forward, burying his face in Juno’s neck to hide his blush. Juno squeezes him tightly once, pockets Peter’s glasses for him, and starts to pull him to his feet.

“Alright, c’mon. If you wanna cuddle, we can do it in bed. I’ve already got a crick in my neck just from looking at you hunched over that goddamn desk.” Peter lets Juno haul him up, and leans heavily into him all the way back to Juno’s room, where he reluctantly lets go of Juno to change out of his clothes and into a pair of his silk pajamas that had somehow ended up strewn across Juno’s desk chair.

Once he’s dressed, Peter crawls into bed and snuggles into Juno’s side, pressing soft kisses along Juno’s jaw and neck. He doesn’t say anything, but it means _thank you for taking care of me. For loving me._ and Juno knows it. 

“Well hello to you too, sweetheart,” he jokes as Peter plants another open-mouthed kiss at the junction of his neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. Peter smiles into Juno’s shoulder, kisses a thin scar there.

“Yes, hello, dear,” he manages through a yawn and Juno laughs softly, easing them down to lay properly on the mattress and tucks the blankets in around them. The pillows under Peter’s head smell like the vanilla-scented shampoo Buddy had gifted Juno after a particularly taxing heist on Venus and a hint of his own cologne. Juno’s weight is warm and soft against him, chest shifting under Peter’s hand with each slow breath. Peter has never thought of himself as someone capable of having a home, not after everything, but maybe, he thinks, this is as close as he cares to get. It’s... _safe_. And ‘safe’ is not a thing Peter often has the luxury to experience. It’s lovely.

“Quit thinkin’ so loud,” Juno grumbles into his hair, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“Hush,” he says, lips against Peter’s forehead as if he’s speaking directly to Peter’s thoughts, “Go to sleep.” Peter sighs deeply, pressing a little closer to Juno.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, lips brushing against Juno’s collarbone.

“Night, ‘reyev,” Juno yawns, nuzzling back into Peter’s hair. It’s not as if all his worries- their upcoming heist, his past, his debts- disappear in the gentle euphoria of the moment, but there, wrapped tightly in Juno’s arms, surrounded by the feeling and the scent and the _safety_ of him, Peter can finally let himself rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asjhds ok it's done!! if you still wanna hang out with me i'm on tumblr @gently-used-fairytale but you probably knew that already bc i can't not plug it in my endnotes for the life of me. i have two longer(-ish) things for tpp that i'm already working on, but i might take requests/prompts on my tumblr after i finish those if that's something people want <3
> 
> anyways, thank you so so much for reading and for being here- it literally does mean the world to me and i love you very much. please drink water and take care of yourself for me <3 <3
> 
> -ec <3
> 
> p.s. i'm so deeply infuriated that mars doesn't technically have a north star because i had such a sexy little gay metaphor about north stars and i couldn't use it bc mars doesn't FUCKING have one asdfgjk. also the fact that like 90% of constellation mythology includes/mentions andromeda in some way is kinda homophobic ngl :/
> 
> p.p.s. here's the inspo for the babydoll slip dress juno wears in the first 1/2 of this chapter ( https://rb.gy/fxolyb ) because i will put juno in clothes i own until the day i die, actually


End file.
